Azkaban Buddies
by the queen of slurking
Summary: In which Harry and Minerva are imprisoned for their uses of Unforgivable Curses during the Battle of Hogwarts.


**Azkaban Buddies**

**I own nothing. This came about from a series of PMs between myself and Refreshingly Original, talking about a story called How Harry Potter Scenes Could Have Ended. In particular, looking at chapter 5. More detail on profile. OOC ahead! **

**Chapter 1**

**7 July 1998**

"This is all your fault, Potter." A dignified woman's voice, still with remnants of a Scottish accent, rang through the near-silent halls of Azkaban Prison.

"_My_ fault? How is this my fault?" A second voice, male and sounding a lot younger, retaliated, laced with indignation.

"Well, it all started when you decided it would be a good idea to _break into Gringotts and steal a dragon._ And don't even get me started on when you decided to break into the school and use the Cruciatus on a Death Eater."

"The bank was a necessary evil! And the Death Eater deserved it. You called it _chivalrous,_ if memory serves."

"Well, yes, but that was before I absorbed the shock of seeing a student who'd been on the run show up in one of the House towers that he didn't belong to. Really, how chivalrous is it to use the torture curse on someone, when that curse is very capable of sending a person into permanent, incurable insanity? Couldn't you have used something a little less unforgivable?"

Their fellow prisoners shifted restlessly in their cells. The two arguing prisoners – one Harry Potter and one Minerva McGonagall – were arguing again. The term _again_ could be used a little loosely; they had only been brought in a month ago. It was rather entertaining, if not a bit of a shock that two such highly regarded people would be sentenced to time in prison for the use of Unforgivables. Thankfully, now that the Dementors were gone, they could talk more freely among themselves without fear of crippling depression settling in, and as they were able to move outside of the cells every so often for a little while, they were able to place bets on who would win the latest argument. True, they didn't have a lot to bet, but it was still amusing.

"Need I remind you, Minnie, that _you _then turned around and cast the Imperius on a Carrow to get their wands away from them, before you bound them and left them there?" Harry's voice sounded smug, if not triumphant, and the other inmates wondered how he was going to win this one.

"No, you need _not _remind me. I am not so old that I have become senile and am now unable to recall my actions. But didn't you use the Imperius before? Perhaps when you were breaking into the bank?"

A long, drawn-out, exasperated (if the context was anything to go by) sigh was heard, and Harry coughed delicately. "Must you keep on about the bank?"

Any response forming on Minerva's lips was cut off by a small commotion and a shrill voice commanding people to let her go. On instinct, both Harry and Minerva scooted forward to see this new sign of life, and Minerva felt a pang of justice warm her as she watched Dolores Umbridge being dragged forward by two particularly burly-looking human guards. The toad-faced woman was no longer wearing her favoured top-to-toe pink, but the same dull uniform forced on all the inmates. She did still have a bow in her hair, but in her impatience and frustration at not being listened to, yanked it out of her hair and threw it to the ground. Uncaring, the guards pulled her along, deposited her into a higher-security cell and left, the taller one taking care to tread on the bow as he passed.

Minerva smirked to herself as she noticed both men were making hand-washing gestures.

"You know…" Harry commented as if to himself. Unwillingly, Minerva felt her attention being drawn back to him. "If you think about it, this is actually Luna's fault."

"And just how do you figure that, Mr. Potter?"

"Well, I know it's not entirely her fault that she can't hold her liquor, but she didn't have to say that we'd performed Unforgivables on Death Eaters. If she hadn't said anything, we totally could've got away with it."

"…"

"It was worth a try. Besides, if you think about it, I could be going into the Auror department or returning to school with Hermione. You could be in your office, glaring at Dumbledore's portrait's twinkly eyes and avoiding the nattering of all the other portraits giving you advice and talking about the battle."

"Yes… or I _could_ be doing something useful, like overseeing and helping with the rebuild and organizing of everything."

Silence descended on the cells as both occupants fell quiet. The other inmates listened keenly for the sounds of anymore arguments beginning and were disappointed to note another victory for Minerva.

In his cell, Harry glared at the wall. He was _bored_. It was times like this he would've liked Muggle television or radios; as it was, the Minister visited occasionally and brought in newspapers or information about who was doing what or if some new difficulties had occurred.

July 19

"Hey, Minnie?"

"Ye-es? And don't call me Minnie, my name is Minerva. What harebrained idea have you formed _this_ time?"

"D'you suppose we could ask the Minister to bring some fun stuff next time he visits?"

"Prison is not meant to be _fun_, Potter. It is supposed to be a punishment for wrongdoing."

"You know, you sounded a lot like Professor Snape just then."

From Minerva's cell came a series of soft meows, then angry-cat hisses and growls.

Harry couldn't be sure, but it sounded faintly as though the Minerva-cat was scratching her claws against the floor. Wisely, he decided to shut up and leave her be.

Before he picked up the latest copy of the _Daily Prophet,_ he remembered something else. "Y'know, I get the whole punishment thing, but surely we're not supposed to be bored to tears and scrounging up old newspapers just for a bit of reading. Muggle prisons have all kinds of entertainment and things… libraries… TVs… movies…"

From the next cell, he heard a faint "Do shut up."

July 22

"Hey Minnie…"

"What is it this time?"

"My birthday is in nine days. I'll be eighteen. And I'm stuck in here. Do you imagine I could get a temporary reprieve?"

"No. I do not."

"Killjoy… Well, I think the Minister is planning to visit today. I feel like asking him to bring in a few things to amuse us inmates while we attempt to pass the time."

"Try counting the scratches and gouges on the wall. It might keep you occupied enough that you'll be quiet for a day." Harry wasn't certain, but he was sure he detected a trace of humour in the woman's voice.

"Oh, I already did that. On the wall to my left are seventy-seven scratches, ranging from ankle height to shoulder-height, measured against my height. They vary in depth and intensity. One is five centimentres long. On the wall beside my bed are ninety-three scratches, from ankle height to above my head, suggesting that the former inmate was at least five inches taller than I am. And on the wall to my right are one hundred and six scratches, three of which form the number eight. Those ones are less a case of how high up they are, but how widely scattered over the wall they are."

"What in the world… _How _did you even come to all those conclusions? Or are you just making things up?

Harry grinned. He definitely had her attention now. No matter how grudgingly, she would talk to him until he annoyed her, or until she saw no need to continue with the conversation. Either way, he wouldn't be bored for at least half an hour and that was always a bonus.

"No, I legitimately counted. And the Minister brought in parchment and quills, so I made a note of which was which. It was a bit tricky to stick them to the walls, so I just left them by the relevant walls. I did it the other day when you got annoyed and decided to be a cat."

Minerva just sat there, blinking at the wall. "I just understood your desire for fun things to do. Clearly, being here is eroding our thought processes. Yours, at least."

"Again with the sounding like Snape. You should really watch that. Besides, at least the Dementors are no longer here, and at least _you_ have your Animagus form to entertain you when you get bored."

"Well, I might've taught you to master the skill if you hadn't dropped out of school."

This accurate statement was greeted with silence, and Minerva peered at the wall, as if she could discern from the blank grey what Harry's reaction was. After a half-hour, there was still no response and she gave up, shifting into her cat form and snootily sticking her nose in the air. Still, she could only examine her paws for so long before she tired of it.

"Are you going to hold everything I've done against me?"

"Define _everything._"

"Well, let's start from the beginning. The troll?"

"No… you were trying to do a good deed for a classmate."

Minutes passed. At length, Harry announced in a robotic monotone that "This conversation is no longer functional. It will cease and desist immediately."

This sentence was accompanied with a small sound that was apparently intended to represent something exploding.

Shrugging, Minerva lay down and began to meditate, knowing that the sound of chanting would annoy Harry.

Unfortunately, it didn't quite work as she had hoped. Harry stayed silent, and Minerva was just about to up the ante by whistling tunelessly. Instead, Harry began singing. Loudly. After three minutes, his voice drowned her out entirely and she listened, trying to understand what the song was. It wasn't anything she'd heard before, that was for certain.

"_Ninety-two bottles of beer on the wall, take one down, pass it around, now there's ninety-one bottles of beer on the wall. Ninety-one bottles of beer on the wall…"_

The 'song', if one could call it that, continued in that vein for a good half hour and Minerva began chanting under her breath her desire for Harry to shut up. Indeed, he did not cease and desist until two guards began walking down the hall, talking pointedly about how the Minister would be arriving momentarily. Thankfully, Harry respected the Minister and would stay silent during the man's visit.

Kingsley approached their adjacent cells, smiling warmly. Minerva greeted him politely and they proceeded to chat about the school and the rebuild effort. It seemed that Diagon Alley was being successfully re-established, and Hermione Granger had rounded up dozens of people to build the school back up. In her absence, Filius had taken the slot of Headmaster, while Pomona had taken the role of Deputy. Both professors had letters for Minerva, who took them eagerly and set them aside for later. Moving on, Kingsley was amused at Harry's request for some fun things to do, agreeing quickly to bring some basic arts and crafts things.

Once he was gone, Minerva had to put up with the sound of Harry gloating.

26 July

Kingsley returned, bringing with him a rather large stack of knitting supplies for Harry. It turned out he'd charmed each ball of wool to never run out, which brought about endless amounts of glee. Minerva was rather touched that he had remembered that she'd used to enjoy needlework in her free time, and he'd brought her the necessary supplies: needles charmed to never go blunt, thread charmed never to run out and enough fabrics to last a year. Some of them were patterns or embroider-by-number, but it was still useful.

This time, Minerva couldn't resist the temptation to gloat.

31 July

Harry's birthday came and went, with some griping from Harry about how his eighteenth birthday was being wasted locked in prison. Minerva didn't have the heart to remind him that he could have refrained from using an Unforgivable, and no-one else mentioned it. To pass the time, Harry began knitting a scarf, as summer was drawing to a close and the prison wasn't exactly well-heated. Annoyed by the sound of knitting needles clicking, Minerva picked up a needlepoint and started embroidering in cross-stitch a lion. Over the next few days, Minerva and Harry had an unspoken contest going to see who could finish their craftwork first.

The sound of clicking was furious, and Minerva could frequently be heard cursing as she pricked her finger again and again, trying to finish before the clicking stopped. Hours later, a cheer of triumph from Harry's cell indicated that he'd finished first. Irritated, Minerva threw down her stitching and shifted into a cat, trying to see if she could slip through the bars of her cell.

Two hours later, she'd only managed to poke one paw out through the gap. It seemed that the bars were spelled to close themselves when someone seemed to be trying to get out, and with a pitiful mew, she backed away and fell asleep.


End file.
